


Bowed Legs and Roller Blades

by ArmsofWar



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dreams, Gen, M/M, Mild Profanity, Rollerblades, so many rollerblades
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-12
Updated: 2014-11-12
Packaged: 2018-02-25 01:37:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2603756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArmsofWar/pseuds/ArmsofWar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Sam can't agree where to go for their next hunting break, but Castiel has the answer. Dean isn't very happy about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bowed Legs and Roller Blades

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a short little thing to prove I'm alive and that I still don't understand basic sentence structure.

Dean did not like any of the things that were happening, but he was also completely powerless to stop it. 

  
“Dean, the only way that you will be able to move is if you let go of the wall.”

  
Castiel was not helping.  
  
Frankly, Dean did not appreciate Sam’s snickering nor his additional “Yeah, Dean, you have to let go of the wall. Please, please let go of the wall. Wait, wait! I need to grab my phone.” With the ease and coordination of a man half his size,  Dean’s brother rolled off of the main floor of the Kendall Roller Rink in order to grab his phone out of their bag which was stashed, possibly irresponsibly, in a cubby near the front of the rink.  
  


Dean, however, was very happy to stay right where he was. He felt a sort of bond with the little half-wall partition that separated the galaxy themed carpet from the slippery death-rink floor, that was currently dancing with lights that bounced off the disco ball that hung at the center of the rink.   
  


“Would holding my hand help?” Castiel asked, who stood perfectly at ease on the roller death contraptions that were attached to his feet.   
  


“Yeah, no thanks,” Dean replied, trying to sound gruff while also trying not to breathe too hard or else he’d upset the minimal balance that he had right at that moment. “Why are we here again?”   
  


“We are here,” Castiel said, rolling smoothly out of the way of a rag-tag team of racing teenagers who screamed as they roared past, “because you said we needed to have more fun.”   
  


The angel was right, of course. After three months on the road with nothing but blood, guts, a very small sense of satisfaction, and probably one too many value meals from Wendy’s, they had needed a break.   
  


The three of them took breaks from hunting every once in a while, which usually involved Dean driving until the Impala was nearly out of gas, finding the nearest motel and closest dive and getting plastered, shooting pool and lying around hungover for the next three days. But Sam complained that he didn’t feel like hustling pool for the fourth time in a row (which Dean didn’t understand since it was not only tons of fun tricking crooks out of a few hundred bucks, but it meant fine liquor and, sometimes, even a lady or two to ogle. You know…respectfully and stuff). And Dean would never forgive his ogre of a brother for even suggesting they go to a yoga class. Somehow, both Sam and Castiel convinced Dean to go, and ever since that day Dean could never look at a pretzel the same way again.   
  


So, since Sam didn’t want to let Dean choose and Dean was frankly too traumatized to let Sam take another crack, it all came down to Castiel. 

  
And he chose a goddamned roller disco out in South Jersey. 

Dean was about to make a crack at Castiel, trying to explain what ‘Fun’ actually meant, but then he saw that the angel’s hands were clenched. He glanced up further and saw that, although he was trying to seem detached and only slightly curious about the proceedings, Cas obviously wanted to join the rest of the people who were skating around the rink.   
  


This guy was gonna kill him, that was for sure.  
  


“Okay,” Dean said, rolling back his shoulders and cracking his neck. Castiel reached out to help but was stopped with a quick glance from Dean, practically daring the angel to roll a step closer. With a deep breath and a soft prayer, Dean let go of the wall and gently, slowly glided into the rink.   
  


He immediately fell on his ass.   
  


“Yes!” Sam shouted as he rolled his way over to his fallen brother and confused comrade. “Yes, I got the camera out and ready right when you let go. Yes, oh I need to post this!”   
  


“On what, numbnuts? We don’t have that stupid headbook or myface or whatever it is.” Dean grunted, as he tried not to whimper while slowly climbing up the wall to stand back up again.   
  


“Facebook, Dean,” Sam said. Dean rolled his eyes as his brother steamrolled onwards, like he usually did, “We’ve talked about it. I’ve shown it to you. How the hell do you remember all the lyrics to “Bat Out of Hell” but not the name of the most popular social media website on the planet?”   
  


“I personally am a fan of the Tumbles” Castiel chimed in. Dean paused his slow, steady climb and Sam went from ‘bitchface’ to perplexed in .3 seconds.   
  


“You know Tumblr?” Sam said, horrified and, frankly, curious.   
  


“I feel like 'know' might be too strong of a word,” Castiel admitted.   
  


Dean was now standing, although with a far more sore coccyx than he’d had previously.   
  


“Okay, you two can talk about gymnastics and space books or whatever,” Dean said, rolling his eyes, “I’ll see you guys on the rink.” And without a chance to chicken out again, Dean pushed off the wall and propelled onto the slippery and terrifying wood floor.   
  


The song had changed and the black lights had taken over for the discoball. Dean was wearing a black t-shirt and jeans but the skates he rented from the roller rink had apparently painted small stars all over them. He didn’t look down for long, as he felt the propulsion of gravity trying to push him off balance. He moved one leg in front of the other, hoping that he didn’t look like a complete moron. He managed to make one lap and only crashed into one of the walls, and when he got back to their original spot he saw that Sam and Cas were no longer there. Again, more than a little nervous to try looking around for fear that he’d fall flat on his face, Dean carried on around the rink.   
  


Skating grew easier. He fell once or twice, but by his fifth time around he was able to avoid crashing into the walls and partitions around the rink.  
  


“Are you having fun?” Castiel asked, so close that Dean yelped and fell down again. 

  
“Bell, Cas! You need a bell!” Dean barked, groaning as he got up again. This time, he allowed the other man to help him up, if only because Castiel grabbed his hand before he’d had the chance to pull away. When Dean was upright, Cas pulled his hand away, shoving it into his coat pocket and eyeing Dean in the way that made him feel like, were it any other person, he would totally be getting sex or a free drink by the end of the night. 

  
But it was Cas. Cas was different. He was an angel for Chrissake. 

  
He remembered, then, that Cas had asked a question. 

  
“Yeah, man,” Dean said, scratching the back of his head (which was something he did when he was nervous and he wasn’t nervous it was just a weird question and--okay it wasn’t that weird but--). “No, I mean once you get the hang of it, it’s sort of fun.”  
  


Cas smiled, a rare sight nowadays that rattled Dean’s gut like an earthquake, propelling butterflies into his heart and down to his toes. 

  
The lights turned on and the music stopped. Sam pulled past them shouting “Move move move move!” And all the training and all of the hunting in the world could not have prepared Dean for the sudden onslaught of rollerskating animal mascots that shot towards them. 

  
“What the hell is that?” Dean shouted. Castiel was able to get away but Dean, as much progress as he’d made in the hour or so they’d been at the rink simply could not move fast enough. 

  
So there he stood. In a line that consisted of a bunch of ten year olds, a chicken, a cow, and an incredibly cynical looking sixteen year old in a work uniform. Dean had thought that would be the worst of it. 

  
It wasn’t.

  
The music started playing. Why? Why did people still do the chicken dance? Dean looked around and saw a sea of people with phones, cameras, iPads that were probably taking pictures and videos of their shitty kids but were, in turn, gonna be filming what might be the most embarrassing moment in Dean’s whole damn life. 

  
Dean’s reputation had made it through Reno, Vegas, even West Hollywood without a scratch, but now in Jackson, New Jersey, it was going to take a swan dive into absurdity? 

  
“Shake your groove thang!” 

  
“Sam, if you film this I will disown you!” he shouted at Sam who was using not one phone, but two. He apparently had passed another video taping device (how did he get so many?) to Castiel who was evidently confused about which way the screen was supposed to face. 

  
Dean stood still for a couple of seconds as the song first started. Maybe he could just stand still and no one would see him. But the kids were not having it, and neither was the mascot. 

  
“You gotta dance if you’re in the dance circle!” the chicken’s goofy voice chided. One of the little girls kicked his shin with her rollerskate.

  
“What the f-” he started as she stood back up to dance but with a distinctly threatening look in her gaze. 

  
He held his shin for a moment, then, with all of the manliness and dignity he could muster, began to do the chicken dance. He managed to dosey-do and he even managed to resist giving Sammy the middle finger when he saw his brother waving enthusiastically at him like an over-hyped cheerleader. 

  
After what seemed like forever, Dean was allowed to roll back to Sam and Castiel. 

  
“You are dead to me,” Dean said, finally. Sam only sniggered, which really wasn’t the desired effect Dean wanted. 

  
Soon the lights turned back off and the music started back up. Dean was more than happy to get out of the rink and sit near their cubby. He rubbed at the place where the girl had kicked him and already he could feel the bump of a sick bruise starting to percolate under his skin. 

  
Sam wandered off to grab some food, muttering something about fitness and salads and how fries lacked nutrients. Dean just rubbed at his leg and tried to pretend he didn’t just totally humiliate himself.

  
Castiel rolled into Dean’s view and, after Dean nodded, took a seat on the bench beside him. The room was warm and it seemed even Cas could sweat as heat poured off of his coat.

  
“Why don’t you take that off?” Dean asked, sitting up. When Castiel looked up in confusion, Dean gently picked at a corner of the jacket and quickly let go. “You’ve got to be roasting in that.” 

  
Castiel nodded. “It is warm in here.” He took off his coat which was something that Dean enjoyed with a perverseness that made him want to bang his head against metal doors. He bit his lip and turned away, swallowing his immediate desire to do anything untoward.  
  


“Your dancing was inspiring,” Castiel said. Dean laughed automatically, but realized after a moment that he was the only one doing so.  
  


“What?” Dean replied. That could have been the only appropriate answer. 

  
“I just, how did you know to do that?” Castiel asked. 

  
“Do what? The chicken dance?” Dean asked, feeling like this conversation might be just a little too strange, even for him. 

  
“The Chicken Dance? What a strange name,” Castiel said, then leaned back thoughtfully. “Although, I think that dance was quite a provocative choice for such young children.” 

  
“Uh,” Dean said. “Provocative? The Chicken Dance?” Castiel didn’t continue so that caused Dean’s mind to work instead, trying to piece together what could be so provocative about the chicken dance. It didn’t take much for him to realize that, “Cas!” He tried to sound scandalized, like he would with Benny or any other dude that he’d managed to form a teasing reparte with. “Were you checking out my ass?”

  
Somehow, it seemed like an actual question, a serious question, which was not what Dean wanted but maybe...maybe it sort of was?

  
Dean shouldn’t have been surprised at Cas’s answer. “Well, it seemed like that was the point.” 

  
He shouldn’t have been, but he was. Had Cas always been so candid about things like this? Sure, he’d watched porn in front of them a couple of times (because he was an idiot, Dean thought, maybe because he wasn’t sexual like humans were), and he’d been with Meg or something, right? Was he….what was he really saying? 

  
“I feel like I made a poor decision in choosing this for our break,” Castiel said, apparently done talking about Dean’s butt (which-hey!-his ass warranted way more air time, in Dean’s humble opinion). Dean glanced at him and saw the man looked worried and a little sad. Nothing overt, for the man only stared at the rink and the lights of the roller rink flashed pink and green and orange over his bright chlorinated pool blue eyes. 

  
“No, man, I told you this was fun,” Dean said. “Though, I am sort of curious.” Cas turned his head towards Dean, his eyes away from the lights and even though the colors no longer danced in them Dean couldn’t help the tug from his heart that seemed to yearn closer towards them. “What made you want to choose this place?”  
  
“Oh,” Cas said and, for the first time that night he looked embarrassed. When he didn’t answer immediately, Dean nudged him. “I, well,” Cas cleared his throat. “I know you like that music with the loud guitars and screaming and things? Rock bands? And on Thursday, this establishment claims to play classic rock music around 8 p.m. which is….” they both glanced at the clock and saw it was 7:58 p.m. “soon. I thought that if you didn’t like the skating, you might like the music at least.”  
  


Dean’s heart felt like it was overflowing and he wished he could reach out and hug his friend right then and there. But there were still weird cow mascots skating around and Dean felt mostly uncomfortable, so instead he just grabbed Cas’s shoulder and squeezed. 

  
“That’s great, man,” Dean said, his voice going unintentionally soft. “No, seriously, thank you.” 

  
Cas smiled that great big smile again. “You’re welcome, Dean.” 

  
And as it hit 8 p.m., the evening shifted as Bohemian Rhapsody (overplayed, but a classic, Dean thought) crackled over the sound system. Dean stood, quickly followed by Cas. They rolled on to the wooden roller rink floor, and as the young teenagers and kids screamed along to Freddie Mercury’s sultry moans and cries, the righteous man and the angel rolled side-by-side to their own quiet rhythm. 

  
Dean reached out and took Cas’s hand. And just this once, he didn’t let go. 


End file.
